


Encomiums

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Awkwardness, Category Will Change, Choices, Experimental Story, Feedback Based, Fluff and Humour, I Love You, I Tried, I enjoy interaction, Lace Panties, Leather Trousers, M/M, Not sure how this will work, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader Interactive (Sort of), This might not work, read notes for more information, title might change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4619745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because you’re tremendously attractive.”</p><p> </p><p>Help me choose where the story goes... (and any suggestions for chapter titles will be welcome)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so, I have no idea how or if this is going to work...but stay with me for a moment.
> 
> I've written this start. I want you, the lovely reader, to read it and pick what you'd like to see happen in the story going from what I've written. What I have done is pretty neutral (or I hope it is) and can be taken any way at all.
> 
> You have from Saturday the 22nd to Saturday the 29th to decide. 
> 
> Here are the six different choices:
> 
> 1\. Awkward Sexual Situation = This can really contain anything that makes something awkward. For example, it can be slight fluff with an embarrassed Sherlock/John being clumsy and awkward or just one of them falling off the bed during sexy times  
> 2\. Helping Hand  
> 3\. Fluff and Humour  
> 4\. Generic/Funny  
> 5\. Kinkyness = S&M/BDSM etc  
> 6\. Author’s choice*
> 
> Please comment with feedback for the start I've written, and the number of the choice you want to pick (and why, if you want to).
> 
> Hopefully this works, and in the next chapter I shall have another 6 choices for you to choose from.
> 
> I love working with people, hearing suggestions and opinions and comments and feedback, and so I thought to try and do that like this...though whether it will work or not, I'm not entirely sure. (You can let me know about that as well if you wish, if the idea is good or not)
> 
> Obviously, once the voting date has passed, you can no longer pick a number but please don't let that stop you from commenting and giving feedback! I shall be counting up the votes and, fingers crossed, will have a clear winner which I shall get writing!
> 
> * - The Author's choice, is basically leaving it up to me, which means I can pick ANYTHING that I want to. It may not be listed in the choices above. Also, you may throw suggestions at me and tell me any or all of your kinks to sway me.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

“It was so obvious! So, monumentally obvious that I honestly couldn’t believe that no one had seen it, no one had picked up on the fact that she had blue tinted fingertips. Blue! It wasn’t exactly subtle; I could see them a mile away. In fact, I’m quite surprised that she didn’t try to hide them!” Sherlock rambled as he paced in front of the fireplace, his coat still on and his scarf hanging open around his neck. 

“She was a painter, Sherlock,” John sighed around his cup of tea, watching Sherlock walk back and forth in front of him with resigned amusement. 

“Yes?” Sherlock exclaimed, sweeping a hand through the air. “And? Did you see any other paint marks on her person? Hm? No! Why? Because she hadn’t painted something in the last three days!”

John rolled his eyes, “Only you would notice that.”

“No, anyone would notice that if they just observed! If they paid any attention to what was presented to them at all, they would see,” Sherlock continued as he pulled a face and twirled on the spot to face John fully, “And then she kept…looking at me. Staring really. Why? Why was she staring at me that way? Was she egging me on? She knew who I was—perhaps that, in some way, explains the fingertips, but why? Why stare so blatantly?”

“Because you’re tremendously attractive.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly and straightened, “I’m…what?”

“She fancied you. She left the blue on her fingers because she wanted you to know she had done it, because she knew you’d notice, knew no one else but you would. She wanted to impress you. She was off her rocker,” John muttered, taking a sip of tea. “Obvious.”

“I…you…” Sherlock stuttered, still blinking rapidly with flitting eyes when John frowned and looked up at him with a questioning hum. “You think I’m…attractive?”

John did his own bout of blinking, “Well, yeah. To her, definitely.”

“Tremendously attractive, though?”

“Did I say that?” John asked after clearing his throat and adjusting his position on his chair with a quick shrug. “She seemed really…enthralled, with you so, yeah. Tremendously. Enormously. Extremely. Spectacularly. All those big words.”

Sherlock’s mouth curled up on one side and he moved to sit down on his chair with a faint flush to his cheeks, “…What about me is so attractive?”

“Cheekbones,” John replied before he had fully processed what Sherlock had said and how he had answered so readily. “…Is probably what she noticed, because, you know, they’re so…striking—At least she’s locked up now, anyway, right? Probably serve a hefty amount of time in prison for all she did. Think she’ll send you love letters in the post?”

“Just my cheekbones are attractive?” Sherlock asked with a soft huff and a bemused expression.

John sighed and looked up at him with a clench of his jaw, “What do you want from me, Sherlock? She wanted your arse. She liked a lot about you. Hair, eyes, lips, even your bloody hands, does it matter?”

Sherlock slumped down in his seat and stretched out his legs until one of his feet nudged John’s, “Just makes a change, that’s all. Most, if not all, women that we encounter prefer you over me.”

“Only because you’re horrid to them,” John laughed after another mouthful of tea, waving his hand to cut off whatever Sherlock was about to retort. “No, no. You are, Sherlock. You point out their flaws without a hint of remorse, that’s got to be off putting—but it’s you they look at first. Drawn to you like a magnet, until you open your bloody mouth, of course.”

Sherlock harrumphed and waved a hand, “You’re more attractive than me.”

“Sure,” John snorted sarcastically but smiled happily, nudging Sherlock’s ankle with a socked foot. “Take your shoes off.”

Sherlock toed them off and pushed them aside, shrugging off his coat and scarf lazily, “You are, John. Everything about you is attractive.”

“Hm.” John hummed around a biscuit, outstretching one leg to poke Sherlock’s ankle again. “I might have more experience with charming the knickers off women, but I have had to work for it, and it’s taken me time to get to a point where I’m confident enough to rely on words and actions rather than my looks. I’m not saying I’m particularly bad looking, but I’ve got nothing on you.”

“And what have I got then?—Besides cheekbones, apparently,” Sherlock mumbled, poking him back with a faint smile as he sank further down in his chair comfortably and folded his hands on his stomach, watching John from under his brows and fringe.

John shook his head, “Oh no, I’m not going to stroke your ego. I do that enough already.”

“What else would you like to stroke instead then?” Sherlock teased, the joke light-hearted and covered with a rumbling of laughter when John spluttered on his tea and sat forward as he coughed. “Tut tut, John. That dirty mind of yours will be the death of you someday.”

“There was no way you meant that any other way,” John gasped through a shaky chuckle as he wiped tea from his chin and his jeans, brushing crumbs from his thighs and putting down his mug. “Jesus—Can you at least wait until I haven’t got a drink in my hand before you start using innuendos? I could have choked.”

Sherlock smirked slowly when John glanced up at him, “Not one for being choked then? Duly noted.”

John laughed outright and blushed, “Stop.”

“Oh? You do like being choked?”

“Sherlock,” John cautioned and pointed at him sternly, leaning forward on his knees. “Don’t”

“How hard do you like it?” Sherlock asked in a purr, lowering his voice for more effect. “Being choked, that is.”

John shook his head and picked up his mug of tea again, motioning with it gently, “You’re the one who’s going to be choked in a minute, mate.”

Sherlock laughed throatily, looked scandalised, and then wiggled his eyebrows “Oh, John.”

“Oi, enough!” John huffed, trying not to laugh, but he eventually gave up and giggled as he kicked Sherlock’s shin. “You’re a bad man.”

“Very bad,” Sherlock replied and wriggled his toes with a wide and genuine smile, catching John’s foot with two of his playfully for a brief moment. “I’m a bad man and you’re an attractive one.”

John grinned over at him and took a gulp of tea with a softening of his eyes, “This is why people talk.”

“Probably.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is…are you wearing lace underwear?”
> 
>  
> 
> Help me choose where the story goes... (and any suggestions for chapter titles will be welcome)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while. The results of the last choice were 12 for Fluff and Humour (with some awkwardness thrown in) and 18 for Author's choice (with a collection of kinks). So, Author's choice won, however, I have chosen to keep in Fluff and Humour as well...or as much as I can do!
> 
> So, I wrote this chapter and now it's time for another bout of choosing to do! You are choosing what could happen in the next chapter between John and Sherlock.
> 
> You have from Wednesday the 30th September to Wednesday the 7th October to decide.
> 
> Here are the six different choices:
> 
> 1\. Sherlock has to "save" John from other interested men (how he saves John can be either up to you, or up to me)  
> 2\. John has to "save" Sherlock from other interested men (how he saves John can be either up to you, or up to me)  
> 3\. They kiss (how or why can be either up to you, or up to me)  
> 4\. They dance  
> 5\. They get drunk  
> 6\. Author’s choice*
> 
> Please comment with feedback for this chapter, and the number of the choice you want to pick (and why, if you want to).
> 
> In the next chapter I shall have another 6 choices for you to choose from.
> 
> Obviously, once the voting date has passed, you can no longer pick a number but please don't let that stop you from commenting and giving feedback! I shall be counting up the votes and, fingers crossed, will have a clear winner which I shall get writing!
> 
> * - The Author's choice, is basically leaving it up to me, which means I can pick ANYTHING that I want to. It may not be listed in the choices above. Also, you may throw suggestions at me and tell me any or all of your kinks to sway me.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

John stood stock-still and stared with his mouth hanging open, the mug in his hand tipping, spilling steaming hot tea onto the carpet with a series of heavily muffled thuds, as the liquid hit the floor at John’s socked feet. Sherlock turned at the sound and arched his eyebrow, looking down at the mess John was making, before he pursed his mouth to stifle an amused grin and folded his arms over his chest; a chest that was currently wrapped up in Sherlock’s purple shirt, which seemed to have shrunk a few sizes judging by the way it gripped his shoulders, arms and waist, the buttons straining harder than ever. On his legs, clung dark leather trousers that hugged the muscled curves of his thighs and shins.

“What…are you wearing?” John asked aghast and confused, as he struggled to contain an exceedingly loud guffaw. “You look—”

“Gay?” Sherlock cut in and twisted to face the mirror as he pushed his fingers through his hair. “That’s rather the point—Well, I was going for bisexual, but gay works. Either way is fine.”

John snorted and shook his head, “Why?”

“Case,” Sherlock replied, shooting John a scowl via his reflection. “I would have thought it was obvious?— Mrs Hudson is going to be rather miffed at the rather large brown stain on her newly hoovered and steamed carpet, John.”

“Shit,” John grunted and put the mug down quickly, looking at the sodden patch at his feet and grabbing for a dishtowel. “Wait, steamed?”

Sherlock hummed and nodded, “She had it done whilst we were away. Wales. Last week. The case with the vanishing cabinet. You made some vague and unneeded reference to some sort of fictional children’s book. Twice.”

“So, not “newly” newly steamed, then,” John mumbled as he moped up the spill as best he could, getting back to his feet but not before he noticed something from the hem of Sherlock’s trousers. He blinked, tilted his head, squinted, and stepped over with a stunned look. “Is…are you wearing lace underwear?”

Sherlock stiffened and jerked upright, straightening his shoulders as he span on the spot to face John, looking down his nose at him, “No.” 

John arched his eyebrows and then huffed, “Yes you are.”

“It’s for the case,” Sherlock told him and took a step back when John moved forward, tucking his fingers around the waistband of his trousers smoothly and then taking another step backwards as John slowly grinned and followed. “You act as though you’ve never seen a man wearing lace underwear before, John.”

“I haven’t,” John told him honestly and rocked on his heels, giddy with amusement. “For the case, huh? Do most bisexuals, or homosexuals for that matter, wear lace undergarments, then? You mostly play to some sort of popular, well-known, characterisation with your “disguises,” right? You choose things only if the certain sort of person you were trying to pull off would wear them, yeah? Is this a statistical proven fact? Lace underwear? And purple lace underwear at that? Or was it pink?”

Sherlock glared at him but the pinking of his cheeks made John’s grin wider, “How would you know what gay or bisexual men do or do not wear, John?”

“Each to their own,” John shrugged. “Although, I could ask the same of you?”

“It’s my job to know. Especially for cases like this one,” Sherlock said and pushed John away by the shoulder, walking to slip on his shoes and grab his coat. “Don’t wait up.”

John jogged over and frowned, “Hang on a second. Where are you going? What’s the case about? Who are you after? And you do need backup?”

Sherlock scowled and then arched an elegant but snooty eyebrow, swinging on his coat with a practiced twirl, “I’ll be fine, John, but I’ll make sure to give you a call if I need any kind of “backup.””

“Oi, don’t be that way,” John glowered and followed him down the stairs, grabbing him and turning him around before he could leave. “I’m not entirely happy nor comfortable about letting you go when I know you’re wearing lace underwear—”

“For goodness sake,” Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes and trying to leave again, glaring at John’s hand when he shoved the door closed with a brisk and loud echoing click. “John!”

“You don’t wear underwear like that unless you’re angling to be seen in it, or that’s what many will think if they catch sight of them—which I assume is what you want? Otherwise why wear them? Right?” John said and cocked his head to the side when Sherlock clenched his jaw. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock inhaled deeply and adjusted the collar of his coat, “Fine. What exactly do you propose?”

“I come with you. Stand in the back. Keep an eye out,” John told him.

“I don’t need you to “keep an eye out.” This is not a case where I need you to—”

“Tremendously attractive,” John reminded him and folded his arms, pursing his lips with annoyance and continuing when Sherlock frowned, angrily confused. “The woman with the blue fingertips, remember? You already had one manic completely besotted with you, Sherlock. Do you honestly think that you can walk around wearing that and…looking like you do, and not attract some unwanted attention? You’re playing with fire, doing this, you do realise this, don’t you? You might not just attract the one man you’re blatantly trying to get with this little…outfit--Are you going to be drinking?”

“Who are you, my mother?” Sherlock complained and wrestled to get out of the door again, thumping his hand against it when John only shoved it closed. “John, for the love of God, do you honestly think that I would—?”

John snorted and crossed his arms, “Yes. Yes, I do. You do stupid things all the time, Sherlock. You might be brilliant, you might be bloody amazing with what you can see and pick up on, but you can also be a right berk sometimes. I’ve lost count the amount of times that you’ve run, head first, into trouble.”

“Name one time,” Sherlock huffed.

“Jeff Hope.”

Sherlock closed his eyes with yet another eye roll, “I wasn’t going to take the pill—You’re never going to let me forget that stupid cabbie, are you?”

John smiled tightly, “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No! You’ll ruin everything,” Sherlock groused and checked his watch distantly before he turned and opened the door, striding out before John could do more than grapple for his coattails. “Stay here! I don’t need you.”

John glared and stepped out onto the pavement, “The hell you don’t!” he called after Sherlock’s retreating figure. “Sherlock! Sherlock, if I hear that you’ve been drugged and—Sherlock!”

Sherlock dropped his head forward in defeat and turned on his heel, stalking back over, “You would ruin everything if you came with me.”

“Why? How?” John asked.

“I’m going into a club specifically for those who are not heterosexual, John,” Sherlock sneered in frustration.

John frowned and nodded, folding his arms and tipped his chin down, “Yes. I gathered that, thank you very much. It wasn’t a huge leap, considering what you’re wearing and what you bloody well told me in the flat not a couple of minutes ago.”

“So you’d stand out like a sore thumb,” Sherlock said, faintly talking over the last few words John uttered. “You’d give me away.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?” Sherlock frowned and adjusted his stance. “No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” John laughed shortly, leaning forward and gesturing with his hand idly. “Sherlock, we get mistaken for a couple nine times out of ten. They’re wrong, obviously, but that means I could clearly pull off being a gay man if people are stupid enough to think I am one, even when I’m not trying to be. Gay men don’t all look and act the same either, for crying out loud. Not all of them are flamboyant and dress like…that!”

“They do when they’re looking to get off!” Sherlock argued. 

John’s eyebrows shot up and then he scowled, “I’m coming with you—Unless you tell me everything to do with the case, or at least all the important bits. Like, where the hell this club is, and what this man that you’re after, looks like.”

Sherlock glared at a few passers-by and then stepped closer to John, “Fine. Come with me, if you want, but you have to do everything I say,” He muttered and ran his eyes over John’s clothes. “And you have to change.”

John shrugged and tipped his head to the flat, “After you. I don’t trust you not to sneak off whilst I’m changing. Get in.”

“How about I just tell you the name of the—”

“Knowing you, it’ll be the wrong name,” John said, waving his hand at the open door. “Get in.”

Sherlock checked his watch again and snarled in his breath before grabbing John’s arm and dragging him in through the flat to John’s bedroom, rummaging roughly through his wardrobe, “This is ridiculous—I don’t need you to constantly be there. I did perfectly well before you came limping into my life.”

“Did you, indeed,” John snorted and then pulled Sherlock back. “All right, enough. Stop rifling through my clothes!”

“Good lord--How many jumpers do you own?” Sherlock complained as he yanked out a t-shirt and some jeans, chucking them into John’s chest and then turning to look through a chest of drawers. “Put those on.”

John fumbled and dropped the jeans with a sigh, “That’s my pants drawer…”

“I realise that.”

“I don’t have any lace,” John smirked, flashing Sherlock an impish expression that faltered and twisted the instant Sherlock turned around holding John’s red underwear. “…You had to pick the red ones.”

“They’re quite – what was the word you used? Ah, yes – flamboyant.” Sherlock said and threw them at John’s head. “Put them on.”

“Should I wear my “date shoes” too?” John murmured sarcastically as he put the clothes over his bed and began undressing, signalling with his finger for Sherlock to turn his back. 

Sherlock sighed loudly and dramatically and turned around as instructed, “Hurry up!”

“Tell me about the case?”

“Hardly see the point. It’s a four, at best. I only took it because I’m exceedingly bored and Lestrade is being even more of an idiot than usual—I rather think it’s because of his problems in his personal life. His children are—”

“Don’t be an arse,” John sighed tiredly from behind him as he quickly changed his underwear and stepped into his jeans, tugging them up his hips with a low grunt. “These might be a tad on the tight side…”

“I know,” Sherlock replied and looked at his watch again. “That’s the point--Make sure your underwear can be seen slightly.”

“What’s next, going to style my hair?” John joked mockingly as he pulled on the tight-fitting t-shirt with a frown. It was something from his youth, something he hadn’t worn in years, and it was taut on his torso, outlining his pectorals and, embarrassingly, his nipples. 

Sherlock turned around and stepped up close, running his fingers suddenly through John’s hair as his answer, “I’d suggest wearing your dog tags but, well, you’re not going there to actually “get some” so it might be best to forgo those—your hair is ridiculously soft,” he said, trailing off into a murmur and combing his fingers back and forth over John’s scalp. “Has it always been this way?”

John looked up at Sherlock under his brow, suddenly interested in his eyes until Sherlock leaned forward and all but sniffed at John’s hairline, and then exhaled a quiet laugh, “Um. Yeah. Pretty sure my hair hasn’t changed too drastically over the years—would you stop that? Sherlock, please stop petting my head. Sherlock!” 

“What? I’m…styling it.” Sherlock grumbled and bent down before tilting John’s head up. 

“There’s not a lot you can do with it. It’s short and—Sherlock, please stop stroking my bloody hair.” John griped and swatted Sherlock away, taking a step back. He sighed and tugged on the t-shirt he wore, flattening the already tight fabric against the length of his shoulders, and then frowned after Sherlock glanced down to his socked feet. “Are you…wearing eyeliner?”

Sherlock shrugged listlessly, “Yes. Put your shoes on.”

John shook his head with a chuckle, “Where did you even get eyeliner from?”

“Mrs Hudson.”

“…You…you stole some of Mrs Hudson’s eyeliner?” John spluttered.

Sherlock waved a hand, “Borrowed--And she knew all about it. She applied it for me.” 

John couldn’t stop the burst of laughter and only seemed to laugh harder when Sherlock looked at him with provocation, “I’m…I’m sorry, but that mental image is just…God…okay, let’s go—I am not wearing eyeliner, so you can bugger right off. I know you were going to suggest it.”

“I was not. It would look ghastly on you,” Sherlock muttered, sighing when John fell into him snorting. “Oh, grow up!”

Sherlock threw John his coat after John quickly shoved on his shoes, and nabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back out onto the street, “Once we get there, you are not to interfere with what I do or whom I talk to—”

“Unless I think it’s necessary to butt in,” John interrupted, trying but failing to ignore the obvious innuendo and ducking his head with a grin, increasing his stride to keep up.

“Stay near the entrance and the bar. Keep an eye on me if you want, but also pretend to be enjoying yourself. You’ve got to look like you want to be there—Also, before you ask me, again, about the details of the case, all you need to know is that this man whom I am after is suspected to be taking homosexual and bisexual men back to his home and choking them to death.”

“Fantastic. Yet another Dennis Nilsen—is he only suspected? You don’t know for sure?”

“No. Not at present, which is why I’m doing this,” Sherlock told him as they weaved their way passed people and turned down an alley, slipping his hand lower on John’s wrist to almost take his hand. “He isn’t the only suspect, but he’s the one I think is more likely.”

“So, this bloke could essentially drug you, ferry you back to his place, and strangle you? And you didn’t think you’d need me? Yeah. Course. Definitely don’t need someone watching your back with a potential serial killer about,” John muttered with a hard look at Sherlock when he flitted his eyes in John’s direction. 

Sherlock seemed ambiguously insulted, “I’m perfectly capable of not—”

“Sure,” John cut in and glanced around when Sherlock let him go and turned to face him at the corner of a street. Over Sherlock’s shoulder, John could see the club, its doors surrounded by groups of people that were laughing and smoking and flirting. John couldn’t make out a bouncer, but going by how popular the club seemed, he assumed there would be. “Do we have to pay to get in?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, already delving into the snug pocket of his leather trousers, pushing them lower on his hips in the process. “And they also give you a wristband—So, here.” Pulling something out, Sherlock stepped up close, took John’s hand, and attached a pink fluorescent strip to his wrist.

“Won’t they notice that I haven’t paid to get in?” John frowned.

Sherlock shook his head, attaching his own band, “Doubtful.”

“Wait a second…why did you have two wristbands if you were going alone?” John asked in bewilderment, pointing at him when Sherlock turned to review the club from a distance. “You knew I was going to suggest going with you.” 

“Obviously. I would have preferred you not to, though,” Sherlock mumbled. “And it was more than a suggestion, John. You practically gave me an order.” 

“I did not.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t leave me any choice in the matter,” Sherlock said and looked over his shoulder at him. “I’ll go in first. Wait at least two minutes before you, yourself, enter, and do not stare at me once you spot me.”

“Fine,” John sighed. “But if something happens, if I think you’re in any sort of trouble, any at all, I’m getting you out, whether you like it or not.”

Sherlock looked skyward in exasperation, “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Sherlock glared, “Fine.” He said curtly and sauntered off, ignoring the expression on John’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
